The Perfect Girlfriend(38)

‘I’m afraid I have some difficult news. Do you have a friend or someone with a listening ear you can turn to for support?’

A prickle of hope and excitement.

‘It’s fine. Just tell me. Please.’

‘Well, as you know, our staff do not deliberately entice anyone or—’

‘Yes, yes, yes, I know. Just tell me. What did Nate do?’

‘He asked for her details. Her phone number specifically. She didn’t offer it. He asked for it.’

‘Anything else?’

‘No.’

‘And in your experience this means?’

‘That you need to keep a close eye.’

‘What was her name?’

‘Miranda.’

‘Is she blonde?’

‘Yes, but I wouldn’t recommend that you dwell on that as relevant information. Our full report will follow shortly.’

‘OK. Thank you.’

I get out of bed with a fresh sense of purpose.

Leaving the hotel, I drive to a nearby village and sit in a café, working on how best to feed the information back to Katie.

Late afternoon, I slide my dress over my head and apply thick make-up and a wig. I recently bought some blue contact lenses in the States, but they are a bugger to put in. I squint and poke my eyes as I persevere; glasses would look like an obvious disguise. I reapply my mascara.

I’m now blue-eyed, with long, wavy, dark-brown hair. I smile to myself in the mirror.

I am ready.

I wait until an hour after the party would have started before walking gracefully down the stairs, head high, and into the ballroom, as though I have every right to be there.

Which I do.

I accept a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and slip through the crowds. My eyes scan. There’s no one I recognize yet, but I feel exposed. I find a corner, where I sip my drink. Framed pictures of Bella and Miles’ love affair adorn the walls – skiing in Whistler, on board a yacht in Monaco, a gondola in Venice. I take a canapé from a passing waitress because it gives me something to do. I bite into a salmon blini but it’s too rich. I feel sick.

My nausea intensifies the moment I spot Bella. She is at the far side of the room. My prediction was right: Honey Ryder from Dr No in a white bikini. She looks like she’s stepped off a film set. Bella is, literally, show-stopping.

I turn to an older woman beside me. She is staring at Bella.

‘Are you a friend of Bella or Miles?’ I ask.

‘Neither,’ she says. ‘My husband works with Miles and . . .’

I smile and nod, but my legs feel shaky. A flash of red hair. Katie. She is heading for the bar, alone. I can’t see Nate. But he must be here.

I excuse myself and make my way down the side of the room, away from Bella. A man steps on my toes. I ignore the pain and continue. A band takes up position and, within moments, the dance floor is filled. After two songs, silence falls and the lights dim further. Bella takes centre stage as a light focuses on her from above. I watch. She beckons to someone. Voodoo Man, from Live and Let Die joins her. I recognize him: Miles.

My stomach knots as I spot Nate leaning against a wall, clutching a glass of red wine, looking lost in thought. Katie joins him. They don’t look happy, but then again, they don’t look unhappy either. Katie takes his drink from him and places it on a table. She pulls him on to the dance floor. I watch as they bop away whilst I remain rooted to my spot.

I edge my way on to the dance floor and join a group. Mirrors, lights, darkness. As an upbeat version of ‘The Man with the Golden Gun’ blares, people rush for the safety of the sidelines – apart from Bella, who writhes and twists in a clearly choreographed display. I want to scream as everyone claps and cheers at the end. Why can’t they see through her? If this was my event, it would be tasteful and understated. I wouldn’t put on a show. I feel faint as Bella points in my direction, and I have a horrible vision of her pulling me on to the dance floor and exposing me. A woman from the crowd in front of me joins her. They squeal, hug and air kiss.

I don’t even realize I’ve been holding my breath until I exhale.

The evening does not feel like a success. Bella is having a ball. Ditto Nate and Katie. What a waste of time. I leave, but not before removing my present from my bag and adding it to the mountain on a corner table. My unlabelled gift is a book on how to work on an ailing relationship.

I’m sick of happy couples.





13


I wait forty-eight hours before I send an anonymous but detailed letter outlining my ‘suspicions’ to Katie from a ‘well-wisher’. I heard those words used in a TV programme once, and they seemed to irritate the recipient.

Feeling a bit euphoric from my meddling, I turn the radio up loud as I make a prawn stir-fry. But, as is so often the case, I cook too much and the sight of enough food for two brings me down again. I miss cooking for Nate, he was always so appreciative of a home-cooked meal after all the plane and hotel food. I turn the music down as I nibble half-heartedly in front of my laptop, scrolling, searching, posting.

In the future, if Nate’s family research my background, I want them to see what an upstanding citizen I am. People see what they want to see. In me, they will see the perfect wife for their beloved son and a kind, thoughtful daughter-in-law. I’m far from a one-trick pony. My invented rich and varied CV makes me the perfect candidate for the position. I bake, I sew, I create. I will host every Christmas, New Year, Easter – the whole fucking lot. I want Bella to dread every festive season – like she made me dread each new term – because I will subtly undermine her from behind the scenes and alienate her from her family.